


Light in the dark

by Anteros



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had hoped to get this fluff finished for the winter solstice but it wasn't to be.  Profuse apologies for the long stand.  As if Horatio didn't have enough to worry about ;)</p><p>Set around the time of <i>The Duel / The Even Chance</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Light in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I had hoped to get this fluff finished for the winter solstice but it wasn't to be. Profuse apologies for the long stand. As if Horatio didn't have enough to worry about ;)
> 
> Set around the time of _The Duel / The Even Chance_.

_**Light in the Dark**_  
 **Title:** Light in the dark  
 **Author:** Anteros  
 **Characters:** Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Notes:** I had hoped to get this fluff finished for the winter solstice but it wasn't to be. Profuse apologies for the long stand. As if Horatio didn't have enough to worry about ;)

Horatio Hornblower came to His Majesty's Royal Navy expecting a life of discipline, duty, honour and adventure. He appreciated order and regularity and, despite his apprehensions, Hornblower had modest hopes that the service would suit his natural inclinations. He had read Norrie's Seamanship, much of which had baffled him, and the Articles of War, which had terrified and thrilled him in equal measure. He had admired his new uniform with its white collar patches and practiced saluting smartly and self consciously. Horatio Hornblower was prepared to enter the service as a midshipman of His Majesty's Royal Navy.

* * *

  
Nothing, but nothing, could have prepared Hornblower for _Justinian_. Descending the precarious ladder, _companion_ he was told, he felt like Dante following Virgil into the second circle of hell. Or perhaps it was the third circle, where ever the carnal malefactors were condemned, he couldn't quite remember. Here was Jack Tar, the heart of oak that beat behind the wooden walls of Old England rutting like the beasts in the farmyard. His Virgil, a fair blue eyed boy in a dripping boat cloak, shouldered his way through the morass of humanity chattering brightly, oblivious to scenes that would have made Boccaccio blush. By the time they had reached the gunroom Hornblower was so overcome by the noise and the stench, the overwhelming assault on his senses, that he was insensible to everything but the awful churning of his stomach. He vaguely remembered a heaving spasm, raucous laughter, then little more.

Hornblower's shame at the unexpected weakness of this stomach only compounded his misery. He had steeled himself for the worst; for cannon, musket shot, splinter and blade, but he was completely unprepared for crippling sea sickness. At anchor. In Spithead. Horatio Hornblower's mortification knew no bounds. He stumbled through the first three days in a haze of misery, sickness and embarrassment with little awareness of his surroundings. Propelled from pillar to post, or what ever they were called, by his loquacious Virgil, Horatio followed in dumb despair. _Come here, up there, no not there, here, fetch that, no not that, this._ And so on and so forth. He suspected that the boy was genuinely trying to help him, if only his befuddled brain could shake off the leaden confusion caused by the heaving of his stomach. Hornblower couldn't even remember the boy's name; Kenneth or Kennedy or Kincaid, something Scottish. He was so poleaxed by nausea and exhaustion that he barely remembered getting into his hammock at night. Well he remembered the second night because he had fallen straight out the other side, much to the derision of his messmates and the annoyance of whatever-his-name-was whose hammock hung beside him.

Hornblower woke in his hammock one evening with only the dimmest recollection of how he came to be there. He remembered the toe curling mortification of vomiting on the deck before the entire ship's company as they stood at quarters waiting for the Captain Keene to make his way slowly and painfully round the divisions. Green and sick as he was, even Hornblower had been aware that it was a cursory exercise at best and that the captain paid little attention to the slouching sullen men and the rusting ill maintained guns. Beyond that he remembered little. He had no idea how he had made it from the upper gun deck to his hammock, though he vaguely recalled deft fingers carefully removing his fouled stockings and spattered breeches and a gentle hand smoothing away the damp curls plastered to his forehead. A dream, certainly a dream. Surely such tenderness could not exist in this hell hole? Horatio closed his eyes and tried to recall the comforting sensation of the gentle warm hand on his brow and for the first time the continual swaying of his hammock felt soothing rather than nauseating. Just as sleep was overwhelming him he opened his eyes and found Kennedy, if that was his name, watching him intently. Too soporific to even attempt to move Horatio simply held the bright blue gaze in a way that he would never have dared had be been sufficiently compos mentis. Kennedy stared at him, as if in fascination, before smiling and turning way. Horatio vaguely registered that his nose creased when he smiled.

* * *

  
By the fourth day the nausea had receded sufficiently for more conscious misery to make it's presence felt. The reality of the service, of _Justinian_ , could not have been further from Hornblower's lofty ideals. The only thing that appeared to unite the ship was a mutual chain of disrespect stretching upwards from the men to the midshipmen to the lieutenants and reaching it's apotheosis in the much derided character of the captain. Insubordination was rife, rules and regulations were applied haphazardly if at all, and more often than not ignored or flouted with contempt.

The fourth day was also the day for what passed as gunnery drill. The gun crew Hornblower was assigned to eyed him with obvious derision and responded to his hesitant orders begrudgingly if at all. Eventually exasperation got the better of Hornblower.

"What the devil is the matter with you men? I ordered you to load that gun." Even to his own ears he sounded petulant and childish.

"Sorry sir, can't load gun sir, long stand is missing." A small weaselly faced man replied. The rest of the crew nodded solemnly.

"Missing?" Horatio had no idea what the man was taking about but was desperate not to reveal his ignorance.

"Yes, sir, missing sir. Long stand should be right here. Reckon one of t'other crews musta nicked it."

"Well can't you go and fetch another one?" Hornblower snapped.

"Begging your pardon sir, but only officers can get a long stand from gunner. Got to sign for it y'see sir."

Hornblower glared at the gun crew who variously shrugged, nodded and scuffed their feet on the deck. Gathering all the dignity he could muster he ordered the crew to set to cleaning the gun while he fetched a long stand from the gunner.

* * *

  
Lights out could not come quickly enough for Hornblower that night. Ignoring the jeers of the other midshipmen he clambered into his hammock, mercifully managing not to tips himself onto the deck. Around him his messmates chattered and prattled in hoarse whispers and muffled undertones punctuated by bursts of laughter and profanity that made Hornblower's cheeks burn even in the darkness. Exhausted, ashamed, seasick, homesick and hopelessly out of his depth Horatio lay in the dark of the midshipman's berth and tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat and to stop the tears starting in his eyes. Sticking his fingers in his ears and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he willed sleep to come.

But sleep wouldn't come. For the first two bells Horatio lay as still as humanly possible lest he tip his hammock over. At the third bell he cautiously attempted to turn over. He achieved the manoeuvre with some success, though his hammock swung wildly, bumping into those on either side of him. The older man on his right snorted quietly in his sleep and Horatio couldn't help but notice a distinct odour of gin emanating from his hammock. Kennedy, the boy on his left, sighed pointedly and theatrically. Horatio waited for an oath or a rebuke but none came.

A fourth bell followed the third, Horatio could not have been more miserable; he almost wished the oblivion of nausea would return. Surely he was the most wretched creature on God's earth? Still awake, still exhausted, still trying to choke back the welling tears, Horatio's thoughts inevitably trailed back to home.

As a boy he had chafed at the narrow confines of his small world and had sought his escape through books, of which there were many, rather than friends, of which they were few. Dr Hornblower had indulged his son's natural thirst for knowledge and permitted him to burn a candle in his small chamber at night to enable him to read. And despite the housekeeper's continual tutting at such wanton extravagance Horatio could not remember the last time he had fallen asleep without a book in his hand. If only there was light enough to read in the midshipman's berth he felt sure that he would be asleep in minutes. But no. As luck would have it, the one rule that appeared to be rigidly observed on _Justinian_ was for all lights to be extinguished at ten o'clock, four bells first watch.

Horatio lay awake for another bell before attempting to turn over again. This time he was less adroit and almost succeeded in overturning his hammock. He grabbed wildly and caught the edge of the hammock next to him.

"For heaven's sake Hornblower," hissed the voice to his left, "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Sorry," Horatio whispered to the shadowy shape inches from his nose, "I was trying to turn over and nearly ended up on the deck."

"Well if you don't stop fidgeting I swear I will cut your head ropes and you will end up on the deck for sure. Perhaps that will knock some sense into you and give us all some peace."

"I'm sorry, I...I can't get to sleep."

"Indeed Mr Hornblower? Your wakefulness had not escaped my attention." The voice in the darkness dripped sarcasm.

The smarting in Horatio's eyes was becoming a fierce burning and the lump in his throat felt like an eight pound shot.

"I used to read at night you see, Gibbon mostly," he whispered. He had no idea why he was telling Kennedy this but somehow he felt less miserable with someone to talk to, even if that someone appeared to regard him with utter contempt. "If there was just light enough to read a little I'm sure I would be asleep in minutes." Horatio could hear his voice starting to break and bit his lip, bracing himself for another outpouring of scorn. The last thing he expected was for warm rough fingers to meet his own where they still gripped the edge of the hammock. The voice that murmured through the darkness was soft and low.

"I could read to you." Warm fingers stroked lightly over the back of his hand.

"Read? How? Why? Have you got a light?"

"Shhh no. Don't be an ass. It's all up here, in my head I mean. Well, not Gibbon obviously, wouldn't want that dusty old nonsense cluttering up my head. Let me think, something to conjure Morpheus. What about Shakespeare? You must know the Bard?"

"Yes, I mean no, just a little..." Horatio had read Shakespeare at school, the words dead and dry on the page. Dr Hornblower had not approved of the theatre or thought it proper to attend.

"All right then, but don't think I'm going to make a habit of it, mind." The stroking fingers nipped the back of his hand sharply. Horatio yelped but made no attempt to remove his hand. "I'm only doing this to get some peace you know."

The soft voice dropped to the barest whisper.

"Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,  
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.  
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments  
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices  
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,  
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,  
The clouds methought would open and show riches  
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,  
I cried to dream again..."

Hornblower listened in fascination, focusing all his attention on the murmuring stream of verse. Kennedy's light voice breathed life into the words. Images of cloud-capped towers, gorgeous palaces, solemn temples, the great globe itself, danced before him until the insubstantial pageant dissolved into sleep.

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

* * *

  
Kennedy had lied. He did make a habit of it. For the next three nights Horatio lay in his hammock and listened as Kennedy's voice lulled him to sleep, one warm hand anchoring his in the darkness.

"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed  
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;  
But then begins a journey in my head  
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:  
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—  
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,  
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,  
Looking on darkness which the blind do see"

All that stopped when Simpson returned. The light voice was snuffed out, the warm hand withdrew, fearful terrors replaced the bright pageant of dreams and all thoughts were on death.

* * *

  
Through all the years that followed, Hornblower never forgot that first week, those four nights, the light voice in the darkness. Even now, alone in his cabin, Lieutenant Hornblower had only to close his eyes and he could still hear that voice.

His reverie was shattered as a squall hit the _Indefatigable_ and the ship lurched and shuddered. Not so light now, that voice would be up top yelling at the men to _Shorten sail! Lay aloft! Furl Mainsail!_ "He'll be hoarse when he comes off watch," Horatio thought to himself, he smiled in the darkness, turned over and went to sleep.

* * *

  
 ** _Notes_**

This piece was partly inspired by a snippet of a court martial record I came across. On the 14th November 1814 Mr Alexander Johnstone, Master of His Majesty's ship _Crocodile_ was courtmartialed on the charge of being drunk and incapable of doing his duty, quitting the deck to drink in the gunner's cabin and allowing the midshipmen to keep their lights in after 10 o'clock in direct disobedience of the written orders of the ship which stated that warrant and petty officer's lights were to be put out at 9 o'clock at sea and 10 o'clock in harbour.

Byrn, J.D., (2009), _Naval courts martial, 1793-1815_ , Naval Records Society.


End file.
